Once upon a time,
‘round this time of night,
The man everybody
thinks
still
has the keys to the lock
and the list at the door—
y’know,
Rocky,
Was sayin’
to a hipster girl,
who thought she recognized him,
“Of where? Never met him.”
Made his way,
down festival crowed streets,
full of shouts
and said,
to a distracting passerby,
“a what? A carpenter?”
And, haggard,
distracted,
he stumbled into a bar,
rip roaring with the news,
ordered.
“You hear about this…”
ask the barman.
“Man,”
he answers,
scanning the room,
forehead sweat.
“I don’t follow all that bullshit.”
While Dagger,
only one the Main Man
ever
trusted with the money,
on the outskirts of town,
drops a billfold full
of forty large,
starts to tear up,
“What’d I do to my brotherman?”
Slips the rope
and kicks the stool
Think on that.
By Danny Wayne Cotton